The True Greate Jorney
by Ara E R Took
Summary: Sequel to 'And Drink To Me Yet' Waen recieves a mysterious prophecy pointing toward Pippin. Could this be a way to get him back... or is he not really gone? Being reposted. Please bear with.
1. The Calling

(( I'm back! By 'popular demand!' Only... not. I've always felt bad about abandoning this, especially since I've finished the story, in all it's horrid splendor. SO! I promise to finish posting it again by the end of August 2004. To new readers: ignore this, and read. It's boring. To old readers: I'm so sorry! Don't leave me! Please! Bear with me and keep reading! I beg you! The ending isn't perfect, but I love you! And you care, I know you care! breaks down into tears, then slaps self Mm, better... Anyway. Sorry. Enjoy! I'll be good this time! ))

The True Greate Jorney By Ara E R Took  
  
Chapter 1 - The Calling  
  
Agarwaenloth Darkwind was bored out of her mind. She leaned out of her window, long spun gold tresses waving as a gentle breeze tousled them. Ever since her return from Gondor, she had been confined to the palace. Now that her father had sailed across the Sea, and Gimli with him, Waen was confined expressly to her room.  
  
The breeze picked up a bit, evolving into a light wind. Waen watched as trees began to rustle softly, their strong limbs tossed by the moving air. Then a small patch of red caught her eye. She turned ever so slightly and saw that it was a rose, bright red and small enough to be lifted by the breath of wind. It fluttered to a halt just before her on the sill. Agarwaenloth -- a bloodstained blossom.  
  
Waen gently lifted the flower, twirling it by the stem. In that instant the wind caught at it, tearing its petals from the stalk. Waen's eyes followed the petals until they disappeared into the trees. Then she put the bare stem down, climbed out of her window, and began to follow the petals.  
  
They lay in a path as if meant to lead her deep into the Wood. Every few meters she would stop and take up the petals that lay before her, as though they had been meticulously placed for her to gather at ease. It was all unconscious as she moved slowly forward, trance-like; mentally, she was still at her window with the unbroken flower.  
  
Suddenly Waen realized where she was, in the forest bending to retrieve the last petal from among the dirt and dead leaves of the woodland ground. As her fingers curled gently around it, her eyes rose to look before her and she gasped. Before her, as she brought the last petal into contact with her fair smooth skin, from thin air materialized a man who had once been great and walked in Middle Earth. A man who had been dead for years.  
  
(( yay! I'm writing the sequel! Well, this -is- the sequel. Okay, shutting up now... ANYWAY! Who is this mysterious man, hmm? Who indeed?? Bwah hah ha! You'll have to wait for the next chapter! -- which I'm going to post now, since this one was so short. Love you all! Please R&R!! ))


	2. The Prophesy

The True Greate Jorney  
  
Chapter 2 - The Prophesy  
  
Before Waen could speak, the figure of the dead man raised a hand for silence. The spectre, for indeed that is what the once great man now was, called to Waen in comforting tones. "Hush, dear sweet child of Legolas! You need not fear your father's friend of old. Though, indeed, I was the least trustworthy of all my companions, and you have no doubt been taught to curse my name. Yet do not shrink from me! I come bearing tidings from the land across the Sea."  
  
"Across the Sea?" Waen took in her breath sharply. Those three words meant so much. So many loved ones...  
  
"Your father sends greetings," the specter interrupted her thoughts, "As do Gimli, Gandalf, and Galadriel, though you knew them briefly if at all."  
  
Waen waited a moment, as if expecting him to continue. When he did not, she prompted him, "And my mother?"  
  
Here the ghost smiled sadly. "I have seen your mother, child, and she is as fair and lovely as you who stand before me. Indeed, you look more like her than your father. But she suffered greatly without you and him by her side. She has now passed away, and not a day before your father arrived on the shores of the Grey Havens."  
  
Waen was sure that she would have cried then but that she was still holding the blood red petals the specter had sent her. Their rough texture pressed against her skin, soaking up the pain for her.  
  
After a pause, he spoke softly, "My time here runs short. I must deliver my message and leave you now."  
  
From beneath his cloak he drew forth a sheet of parchment, which was real and solid enough when Wean took it from his outstretched hand. And with a smile the son of Gondor faded away...  
  
The young Elven maid didn't seem to notice. She was busy undoing the complicated folds of the parchment. A distracted grin flicked 'cross her face as she recognized the pattern, taught to her by the Grey Pilgrim the one time she had met him. Pull out, turn over, unfold, pull out, turn over, unfold...  
  
At last the paper gave way to her hands, revealing its contents. 'T was a hand written note, though in whose hand she couldn't fathom, certainly it wasn't Gandalf's as she had expected. The words also sounded strange to her.  
  
'Ye shalle followe they namesake  
t'wrd the Messenger and he shalle  
give unto ye this prophecy. Then  
shalle ye embark upon a Jorney,  
and think that ye seek the Sacrificer,  
yet they Hart t'will be that has ye led  
there. Do not let theyself fall to the  
Glorious Ploy, fore ye shalle then  
have not but paine. Thy Hart shalle  
bring ye t'wrd the lair of the Wolf,  
who is thy true love, though ye knowe  
it not. And ye both shalle be mended,  
and he shalle prove his Hart to thee  
by his Greate Choice. Then ye shalle  
know him, and then shalle be his second  
Greate Choice, yet he shalle prevail  
with thy aiding love. As ye have read  
this, so it be. Be bless'd as thy  
namesake is not.'  
  
As Waen finished reading, the paper vanished from her hands. In her surprise she dropped the petals. They fell to the ground, black and dead. She hadn't understood the entire message, but the word 'Sacrificer' stuck out in her mind. Waen hurried home, climbing agile back up through her window. A few of her belongings were hastily packed, and a note dashed off, explaining that she was going to Gondor. For that part of the prophesy alone, Waen reasoned as she saddled her horse outside, was very clear. She had to go see Pippin Took.  
  
(( Bumbumbum!!! Okay, firstly, for the story of Waen's mother, I'm going to officially announce that it was written by my tres bien ami, Mysti San. yay Mysti! If you want to read it, look her up and read 'Across the Sea'. Good story. SO! Funky misspelled words in the prophecy. YAY! That was fun to write. And now you get to refer back to this chapter every ten minutes as you read the rest of the story, trying to figure out just what the heck it all means! XD okay, I'll just go write more now... R&R!! ))Top of Form 1Bottom of Form 1


	3. Embark Upon a Jorney

The True Greate Jorney  
  
Chapter 3 - Embark Upon a Jorney  
  
Waen rode for many days, pausing only to refresh her horse. She herself neither ate nor drank, nor did her eyes ever close in sleep. Some divine or perhaps demonic force led her on, not allowing her to rest or nourish herself. Yet on she rode, like one of the tireless Nine from days gone by.  
  
When she stopped at night for her horse, she always wondered why she was going. Waen had no idea who had written the prophecy, and was suspicious of the lack of detail. According to logic, she should turn around and go home. Yet every time she thought it, she knew that she couldn't. It wasn't merely because of this strange power drawing her on. It was that deep inside, some part of her that she was still in complete control of wanted to go, and drew her on with as much passion as the exterior force within her. She knew that she couldn't go back, that she could only go forward.  
  
In some ways, it annoyed her that some unknown prophet had seen this tiny part of herself that she was only just discovering. And it wasn't really discovering it, she simply sensed it and felt confused by it. At the same time, the fact that this prophet had foreseen her confusion and tried to guide her was reassuring. In this way she gained comfort, repeating the words of the cryptic note to herself when she could spare a thought, which was rare indeed. The focus on her destination had built itself into an obsession. Her mind blazed with thought, constantly recalculating her route and assessing her course of action.  
  
The statuesque white towers of Gondor loomed always just beyond her line of actual vision, tauntingly appearing in her mind's eye. More prominent even than the towers' whiteness, she saw a long low stone hall, a simple rock cairn before it. The words engraved above its door repeated often in her mind, "Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet." He who feared he would not succeed sat still. For the great hall Waen was traveling to, there could be no better description.  
  
By the time the seasons had turned, Waen stood before the hall beside the rock cairn, words glowing at her out of the blackish stone door frame.  
  
(( whee! Another short chap. Sorry! That's just the way I write some times... but that's three chapters in one day. Be happy! More tomorrow! ))


	4. The Lair of the Wolf

The True Greate Journey  
  
Chapter 4 - The Lair of the Wolf  
  
Agarwaenloth stood in silent contemplation of the hall. It had been many seasons since she had last been there. Within, she knew, was the one she sought. The Sacrificer.  
  
To be there brought back all the memories, suddenly hard and raw as the day it had all happened. As her eyes closed, Waen again saw Pippin, turned toward the flames with hard determination across his face, stepping forward with absolute faith in his intentions. She felt her body again rung by the sorrowful wail from Merry as he lunged forward, half an instant too late to save his friend as the mighty ax swung down. Ringing dreadful again in her ears, she heard the low moans of the King and remaining Halfling as they sank to their knees, heads clutched in their hands tightly. The two had gone into almost a state of shock at losing the Seeing-Stone's powerful influence so suddenly. All of Gondor, it seemed, had gone into shock.  
  
Aragorn had only lingered briefly. Each day had shown him calmer and gentler, speaking soft loving words to his wife, children, and companions of old. When the end of the week had seen the King's spirit pass away with the setting sun, Waen had watched her father tearfully close the eyes of a dear old friend, Strider the Ranger.  
  
Merry had recovered, but was forever weakened by the hideous blow. He had sworn over Pippin's mangled body to live the life the Took had wanted him to live, and vowed to dedicate his remaining days to his departed friend. The last Waen had seen of him, he had been kneeling at the side of the cairn she now stood beside.  
  
Pulling herself from her memories, Waen looked over the piled stone pyramid. She banished the remembrance of building it, of building the hall, and studied instead the many hued rocks. Near to the bottom she saw a few spattered splotches of moss growing. She knelt to wipe it away, but froze when she touched it. It wasn't moss, as she had guessed. Her fingers knew the feeling well, and drew back in horror. Long dried blood...  
  
"The dagger is beside you." The familiar voice made Waen whirl around, though she remained kneeling. Her fair eyes were greeted with an equally familiar form, the tall stately figure of Draug. He looked much as he had when she had left, a few years older, perhaps, but then so was she. Yet still could she find the shadowy figure she had first seen hiding behind the throne in the prince's dark features and serious mien. He spoke again. "The one he did it with. If that's what you're looking for."  
  
Waen looked down beside her and saw it. The dagger had once been beautiful, she guessed, though now it was rusted over from exposure and more dried blood. In what was almost terror she rose and backed away from the cairn, not stopping until she bumped into Draug. She turned to face him again, realizing she had only twice stood this close to him before: the first night they had walked together and day he told her and Pippin how to destroy the Palantír. His presence was comforting, dulling the cold fear that had welled up in her chest when she had seen the dagger. Her words were soft and halting, "What.. What happened here? The... the dagger... who? Why?"  
  
"Merry. About a year after you left. He said he couldn't go on, couldn't be as strong as Pippin would have wanted him to be. So he took his life." A sad wry grin crossed Draug's face. "Sacrificed himself to Pippin, you might say."  
  
Waen hadn't expected any news to make her head swim, but the news of Merry's death, of having touched his caked blood, made her feel faint. Draug hadn't expected Waen to suddenly fall forward slightly, but he caught her in his arms and supported her, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder. Her breathing was somewhat erratic, and a worried frown crossed his face.  
  
"Waen? Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm... I'm fine.. I just... need to rest..."  
  
"When was the last time you ate?"  
  
She shook her head slightly, a hard thing to do while resting it against Draug's shoulder. The last time she had had food... "Before I left... I had to come, I..."  
  
"Hush," he tsked, worry spreading across his face as he reached up and felt her forehead. Her pale flesh burned with fever, deepening the crease etched with unhappy concern across his brow. "That must have been days, Waen. You're ill. What could possibly have possessed you to have come here like this?"  
  
Waen tried to reply, but her eyes closed and she couldn't. All those days without food, water, or rest were finally catching up to her. No longer could she stand up by herself...  
  
Though she felt her entire body go limp, Draug's arms simply encircled her with a firmer grip, supporting her in her growing delirious stupor. He whispered something, though exactly what she knew not. Vaguely, as if far away, she sensed Draug gathering her up in his arms and starting to move. The cairn swam before her eyes, then a flash of tall white towers... then she knew no more.  
  
(( And that, boys and girls, is what you get when you ride many days and night in a state of delirium. The end. Is slapped upside the head by the readers OW! Okay, okay, so there are a few more chapters... Hope you enjoyed having this long one! Also. A lovely reader, one Navaer Lalaith, poked me in the shoulder about full names versus nicknames. In this regard I'm fully aware that I stand in the wrong. I should do better about that. I have no excuse. I will consent to type it except when spoken, beginning in the next chapter. Fair compromise? I think so. G'night. ))


	5. The Glorious Ploy

The True Greate Jorney  
  
Chapter 5 - The Glorious Ploy  
  
How long she slumbered, she could not tell, nor could she say how often she had woken. All Agarwaenloth knew was that her aching body was soothed, fierce pangs from fatigue and illness passing from her into a gentle weakness. As the pain subsided into numbness, she was slowly able to comprehend the blurred images that passed before her eyes.  
  
The first thing she could recall after fainting was Draug's voice. He was speaking with someone whose voice she couldn't distinguish, whispering softly as if not to disturb her. She understood nothing he said, but the constant murmur of voices was soothing. Soon enough she grew to recognize the voice Draug spoke most often: a low baritone with a soft tremble when pronouncing Elvish words. It was a strong voice, but sounded as though its owner always spoke with a half-sneer.  
  
One day, after many days of listening to voices, Agarwaenloth realized that she had opened her eyes. Although she was weak she forced herself up onto her elbows to look around. After a moment she recognized the room. A sad smile settled onto her features: she could see her father and Gimli having a hushed conversation at the table, Pippin standing by the very bed she now lay in and wishing her good night.  
  
Having discovered her surroundings, she turned to study herself. Her clothing she recognized not, which troubled her greatly. Other than that she seemed to be intact. One shaking pale hand she raised to her face, gently touching her cheek and gladdened by its coolness after days of anguishing fever. Then she moved her hand out away from her face. She studied it, surprised by its very white color, deathlike almost in appearance. It hardly seemed to be her hand at all, but for the ring she wore. Her mother's ring. There was no mistaking it.  
  
She heard a noise at the door but couldn't move to look. By the soft but sure tread of feet she could tell who her visitor was. For the first time in days she managed to whisper, "I feel much better to-day."  
  
"I'm glad." As she had expected, Draug entered her line of vision. At first she thought he would come sit by her on the bed, but at the last moment he pulled up a chair, keeping respectful distance from her.  
  
"How long have I... been here? Been sick?" she asked as she attempted to push herself up into a seated position. Doing so made her head swim slightly, but when she blinked a few times the world stopped spinning a little.  
  
"Waen," in a flash Draug was at her side, halting her progress and gently forcing her back down onto the bed, "don't push yourself."  
  
"I want to sit up," she protested, trying to push him off. As yet she was far too weak to push even a Halfling babe off of herself, but she struggled meekly against the nearly full-grown Elf anyway. Agarwaenloth had never been one to accept defeat easily. Even as he held her firmly down, she tugged softly at his arms, trying to break his grasp. Now she realized that he was indeed very strong, and half-wondered if she could have pushed him off even in good health.  
  
The feeling that he could crush her at will became overwhelming and her struggle ceased. Only then did Draug relax and slowly pull her up to sitting. As carefully as possible he leaned her back against the bed's headboard, then removed himself from her to go back to his chair. Her hand clasped his arm weakly and stayed him a moment. It was clear that she wasn't letting go, so he knelt down beside the bed before prying her hand off him. He seemed to remember her earlier question as he said, "You've been here a month now. We sent word home for you that you had arrived and were being cared for."  
  
Agarwaenloth nodded slowly, studying his face as he studied his hands where they rested folded together on the bed near her own. Slowly she gathered her thoughts and put them to words, which fell from her lips hesitatingly. "You're probably wondering... why I'm here." Draug nodded slowly as she continued, "It's a very long story. I'm afraid... I'm afraid I don't quite know... where to start. You see..."  
  
"Waen, don't push yourself. You're not fully-" he stopped short as she picked up her hand and pressed her index finger against his lips. Confused but silent, he watched her questioningly until she removed her finger and spoke again.  
  
"Draug, I saw the ghost of Boromir."  
  
"You're delirious. You probably were then, too."  
  
"No, I saw him! His spirit, his specter, I know I did!"  
  
"Don't get so worked up," he rested his hand a moment on hers, with satisfactory calming effects, "So, you think you saw Boromir's ghost? Why didn't you go straight to Faramir?"  
  
"I had to see Pippin."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense, you know."  
  
"It makes worlds of sense!"  
  
He chided softly, "Waen, Waen..." taking her hand again in his own and pressing it gently to soothe her, "Be still, Darkwind. You can explain it to me."  
  
A baritone now rang through the room, asking, "Who're you talking to, Draug? Is she awake?"  
  
As the young prince cringed, dropping her hand and looking away from her, Waen turned herself ever so slightly to face the door. Framed in it was the formidable figure she had once called the High Prince. Now, she could see, he was the High King. With a slightly twisted look in his eye, Aglareb entered the room.  
  
(( Eww, not -him- again! Didn't I kill him? No? -- well, I should have! Yes, that's right, the annoyingest son of Aragorn and Arwen is still here, and that means life will now be miserable for Agarwaenloth, just like it is for Draug. Poor kiddies... Not really much else to say. R&R, SVP!! ))


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